


Fantastic Beasts and Cursed Creatures

by Dhas



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BLATANT REWRITE OF CRIMES OF GRINDELWALD, F/M, Gen, I'm gonna give y'all the story you NEED, M/M, Movie 2: Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald Spoilers, Not Canon Compliant - Movie 2: Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald, Post-Movie 1: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, Rewrite, SPOILERS for Crimes of Grindelwald, except not really I'm changing everything, hey JKR pls stop, mostly a genfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-29 01:08:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16734138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dhas/pseuds/Dhas
Summary: This is a retelling of Fantastic Beasts 2. I saw a lot of potential with those characters, but the editing of the movie and the plot decisions made by JKR was disappointing. Seriously, Grindelwald committed like two crimes in the film. If Grindelwald’s not the centerpiece, he doesn’t deserve to be in the title. Hence, this fic.Credence, the Obscurial. Queenie, the Legilimens. Nagini, the Maledictus. All cursed—but none seek cures. They seek acceptance, love, a place to belong. In a time where strict lines are drawn between wizard and muggle, magic and mundane, normal and unnatural, there are those that are rejected by society and deemed monstrous.Grindelwald remains in prison, but his following grows stronger, eager for a brave and freer world of magic.Opposing this dark wave is not Albus Dumbledore, as most expect. Nor is it the Ministry, rigid and stalwart in its laws. No, the greatest threat to Grindelwald’s power lies in a simple Magizoologist—because Newt Scamander has never met a monster he could not love.





	1. Credence

The world is dark and murky for a long time for Credence. He’s not sure he _is_ Credence for a while, but something lesser than his pitiful existence, floating aimlessly like a wraith through the grim city he’s known his whole life. He doesn’t feel anything at all, and he almost decides he likes it. It looks cold out in the streets, with frosted windows and shivering children. January, he thinks, the first real thought he’s had since Mr. Graves had—since that wizard had—

Credence comes back with a rush of hot emotion he can’t sort through, but there is pavement beneath his feet and his knees crack onto the sidewalk just outside the Second Salem Church. Or, this is where it used to be. They erased it, the same day they erased all the damage Credence had caused, the same day they erased Credence—

 _I’m gone,_ he thinks. _I’m free._

What now?

He doesn’t feel free, not with the whirling horror beneath his skin, still fighting to escape, to take over completely. He still doesn’t understand it. Why didn’t anyone ever explain it? Graves wanted to use him, the other witches wanted to destroy him. Credence just wants to know _what_  he is. Obscurus is just a word to him, it isn't enough.

_Your mother was a wicked, unnatural woman._

But who was she? _Who am I?_

The church is gone. But there must be records. The church is gone and so is _she_ , but he still has—

And here, Credence lets out a low wail, sinking to the ground again. Modesty. Chastity. They were never a family, never wanted to be, but somehow they were his sisters. How could he forget them?

Did they forget _him?_

* * *

He killed Chastity. He hadn’t noticed. Graves hadn’t mentioned it. He only said things like _We’ve lived in the shadows for far too long_ and _Your mother’s dead, that’s your reward._

Credence finds her grave with the ground frozen over and a small dead flower by the tombstone. His feet almost go numb, but he stands there for a while, wishing he could leave a flower as well.

He leaves without looking at the headstone a final time, but if he had looked again, maybe he would’ve seen how the frost had turned crystal-clear and the carved words had sharpened themselves, ensuring that the name _Chastity Barebone_ wouldn’t be worn away too quickly by the weather. Or maybe he would’ve seen it, and still not understood it.

* * *

Modesty remembers him. Or perhaps, upon seeing him appear in the playground while the other children are distracted, she _remembers_  him, and nearly screams.

“No, no, no!” Credence says sternly, surging forward to grab her arms. “No, _don’t_ , please— _Modesty_ —”

“Credence,” she sobs, clutching at his sleeves but also pulling away. “ _Credence_ , what did you do? You did something bad! You—you’re _unnatural_ —”

“Shut up,” He says instantly, the blood draining from his face, realizing this was a bad idea after all. “Shut up, _shut up_ , Modesty—”

With another shuddering gasp, Modesty falls silent, like she's supposed to whenever Mary Lou punished them, and Credence releases her abruptly, jaw snapping shut. “I–I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t…” He lets himself sink to the grass, crouch down to her level. She doesn’t run away screaming, and he doesn't cry. 

“I can’t remember what you did,” Modesty confesses after a moment. “It’s all a fog. Did _you_ do that?”

He just shakes his head dismissively. “You wouldn’t want to remember anyway,” Credence admits, but that just makes the fear in her eyes grow. “Don’t worry. I’m leaving soon. I won’t bother you ever again.”

“Leaving… where?” Her eyes are wide with disbelief, like she’s never even considered the thought of going away forever without it requiring a wooden box.

Idly, Credence wonders who showed up to Mary Lou’s funeral. If she even had one.

“I’m not certain yet,” he tells her carefully. “But I won’t come back.”

The little girl nods, solemn as ever. She doesn’t say she’ll miss him, but she does say goodbye and hold his hand one last time. Anything more would’ve been out of place for them both.

They were never a family, but somehow she was his sister.

* * *

He told Modesty he didn’t know where he’d go, but privately, he thinks Europe, for all the times he’s been mistaken for a Jew or a Frenchman or a German. It doesn’t narrow down much of anything, but it’s something. _Your mother was a wicked, unnatural woman_ , but from where? Who was she?

For all the commotion he caused in December, he is invisible to everyone in February. He blends into the crowd of normal people better than he ever managed to with the church. He doesn’t dare to get a job, to put down roots, but he doesn’t want to be lost in that fog again, so he keeps his feet on the ground and steals food from vendors and clothes off of the drying lines.

And he searches.

Mary Lou Barebones adopted him as an infant in 1902, according to the town hall records. A doddering old man that lived across the street from the church remembers the ship that came in that same day, only remembers it because it was a ship full of _dirty immigrants looking for work_ , flooding the streets with their _disease and foreign words_. The old man doesn’t know what language, and he doesn’t recognize Credence at all, but the ship was called _Brieuc_  and it takes Credence another week before he can muster up the strength to ask someone to make sure it’s French.

* * *

The trip to Europe is harrowing. The sailors know there must be a stowaway, know that it’s not rats eating so much of their food. On a dark and frigid night, they set a trap, wait for him to appear, and Credence does.

They jump him. He cries for mercy, and receives a hard kick in the ribs for it.

Credence loses himself again.

Then the eight men that attacked him are still and cold on the floor. The remaining sailors decide it’s a pox, and dump the bodies, willfully ignoring the horror beneath the deck. Ignorance or self-preservation, Credence can't decide. 

There are still enough sailors to get them across the sea, and enough food left that Credence doesn’t worry about anyone hunting him down again.

In truth, there aren’t enough sailors left to risk searching for Credence again.

He arrives in March, free and alone and without knowing a word of French—and moves forward. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, hello, I need feedback. The whole point of this rewrite is to give fans what they want, so I'm totally open to criticism and suggestions (within reason). I just want a coherent story, but there's definitely fans out there with better ideas than me, and I want to make this satisfying. 
> 
> Also am I a good writer? Do I make the words nice?? tELL Me pLS


	2. Queenie

Grindelwald is successfully transferred from MACUSA to Germany just three months after Newt Scamander helped capture him in New York. He tries to escape during the transfer, and New York is lucky it was so rainy the night that flying carriage was attacked by Grindelwald’s followers, otherwise they’d have exposed the wizarding world ten times over by now. Grindelwald remains in custody, but his followers—several high-ranking members of MACUSA, ranging from Aurors to office workers—escape into Europe without a trace in order to spread his message.

It’s in all the papers, how the good Aurors of New York managed to contain a dark wizard in the midst of a thunderstorm, but more important to Queenie are the followers that betrayed MACUSA.

Mr. Abernathy, a supervisor that was always sweet on her, left that night. And funnily enough, Abernathy was not Occluded. Queenie thinks about him for quite some time after he flees the country, wondering how she missed it. She saw Abernathy every day, felt his affection whenever she made a misstep and his attraction while she fixed her hair in a looking glass. Mr. Abernathy is sweet, and she doesn’t see how she could be so wrong about him.

Jacob is sweet too. Earnest. Honest. But he ain’t as eager as Abernathy is, not committed enough to leave his life behind to make a change. And Queenie never really cared for the way Abernathy looked at her, but he’s the sort of man that dared to be a little more reckless, dared to risk it all. After weeks of dating Jacob—and wanting so much more, wanting this to be permanent and forever—Queenie decides that giving back the rest of the No-Maj’s memories would bring back his bravery. His cavalier nature. He’s already so kind and noble, he already accepts her funny conversations and her natural abilities, he only needs a little push.

So she undoes the Obliviation completely—she's always had a knack for enchanting the mind, puzzling through thought and memoy—and watches the rush of understanding whirl in his eyes. He’s wonderful. He still adores her. She wants to marry this man.

Instead, Jacob holds her close and says, “If only people saw it our way, huh? I’d marry you in a heartbeat.” Instead of getting a ring, he thinks _They’ll take her away for what she’s done, they’ll take away my memory for good, I gotta make the most of what we’ve got._

He’s not wrong. But he also _is_ wrong. The _law_  is wrong, and how are they supposed to make it right without first defying the status quo?

“They’re more progressive in Europe, I hear,” Queenie tries to persuade him. “We could maybe start a new life there.”

But Jacob’s head is full of cold, dirty trenches, foreign words and bitter death. “Nah, I ain’t goin’ back to Europe if I can help it, Queenie. Maybe for a visit? Wouldn’t it be nice to see Newt?”

Tina is the same. They stopped talking months ago, when Queenie moved in with Jacob. “Let’s go on a trip, then,” she says carefully, smiling when Jacob agrees warmly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Queenie's not easy to write. I also have no idea why she would ever join Grindelwald, so I'm totally making up her logic as I go, and hopefully it'll actually make sense?? Who knows??


	3. Newt

Hogwarts. That grand old castle. Magical buildings as old as this one always felt funny to Newt. Funny, but in a good way, the warm and homey sort of way his mother’s hippogriffs greeted him whenever Newt visited. Perhaps so much magic has passed through the halls, been imbued into the stone, that the castle had grown into a living thing beyond the spellwork.

That is what Newt likes to think, at least. It’s what he usually thinks whenever he’s in Scotland, except right now, while he storms out of the Transfiguration professor’s office.

“No, _no!_ I’m already late!” Newt calls over his shoulder, “I’ll have _no part_ of it, Dumbledore, you know that!” He shouts, slams the door shut, and almost bowls over a severe-looking witch in a pointed black hat. Newt stares at her, feeling small even though he’s much taller than he was when he was expelled.

The witch stares back, raising one thin eyebrow. “Mr. Scamander.”

“Professor Ross.” He fidgets, looks for a way out of this conversation, but before he can get another word in the witch steps aside to let him pass. “Ah. Pardon me. I’m late.”

“That does not surprise me,” says the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. A most terrifying and cunning woman, Professor Ross was also the Head of Ravenclaw, and was probably the reason Newt avoided the Ravenclaw common room like the plague during his school years.

He always expected House Slytherin to give him the most trouble, but it was the cleverness of Ravenclaw he was most wary of… Funny thing, as he was almost Sorted into that house…

“Right,” Newt is already pulling out his wand, though he’s still very far from the Apparition point on the east bridge. “Good day.”

He flees the judgmental eyes of his former professor, knowing he’ll be fleeing much judgement in the days to come.

* * *

He arrives at the Ministry just as a tall, reedy man with red-brown hair turns the corner, and makes half a second of eye-contact before they both turn away, though Newt knows he is the only one that really felt the need. There’s a newsstand nearby, and Newt reads the news of Grindelwald’s escape with a growing sense of unease.

“You’re late,” Theseus comments, hooking a hand around the crook of Newt’s elbow.

Newt blanches, already recognizing the shift in Theseus’s demeanor, the shell hardening his spine and stiffening his upper lip. “What? You’re coming too?” He asks in surprise. “I don’t need to be _babysat_ , this is my appeal, it has nothing to do with you—”

Theseus continues to manhandle him through the hallway. “Just shut up and listen for a change, Newt. Don’t argue.”

“I must insist, Theseus, I don’t want your help—”

“But you’re gonna need it anyway, so do as I say,” Theseus hisses, his voice going low like an upset Erumpent, and Newt can understand the urgency even if he wants to protest.

They file into a small conference room, only lit by a harsh bluish light over the table, making the Pensieve in the center reflect over their faces. Newt feels the urge to protest again once Theseus takes the seat closest to Newt, putting himself across from his three superiors, like they’re a united front even though Theseus can’t even begin to understand the circumstances that led to Newt’s appeal.

“So, Mr. Scamander,” One official starts. The Head Auror, Theseus’s immediate boss. There’s also the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, lovely. And a representative from the Department of International Magical Cooperation. “You wish to appeal your ban on international travel.”

“Even after the severe breach in the Statute of Secrecy you caused in New York.” The other wizard pitches in.

“Well—” Theseus steps on his foot.

“And the illegal ownership of several beasts in America.”

Newt worries his bottom lip. “That law is backwards—”

“And after you interfered with the work of American Aurors trying to mitigate the damage caused by an immensely powerful Obscurial, one that nearly exposed the entire magical community to the muggle world in one fail swoop.”

Theseus is still stepping on his foot, shaking his head. The words tumble out anyway. “I hardly think it’s fair to say—”

“He captured Grindelwald for MACUSA,” Theseus talks over him, clasping a hand over Newt’s shoulder and squeezing too tightly. “And successfully Obliviated an entire city. That’s been more than enough to get him off all those charges.”

 _No it wasn’t,_ Newt thinks, just as the Head Auror shakes his head. “No, Theseus, he got off all those charges because of _you_.”

The three men shift, enter the next phase of this attack, and Newt knows there is more to all this—has known the moment Theseus showed up to “help” because when has he ever _helped_ —and braces for whatever agenda the Ministry sees fit to impose upon him.

“We can remove your ban on international travel under one condition.”

 _There it is_. Newt finds a bitter, wan smile worming its way onto his face. “And that is?”

“You join your brother's division."

Newt knows that the smile he tries to respond with looks more like a grimace. "No, I—I think Theseus is the Auror in the family. My talents lie elsewhere."

The official looks at him evenly, but he's tapping his fingers on the table irritably. "Help us find the Obscurial.”

And instead of the firecracker-shouts Newt expected to respond with, he is doused in ice water and whips his head up to Theseus and the others. “Cr-Credence? Credence Barebone?” He can see the answer in Theseus’s mannerisms and quickly shakes his head. “Credence is dead. You killed him.”

(Newt never believed that. The Ministry doesn’t need to know of that, though.)

“He’s been in Europe for months.” Someone flicks their wand and images float out of the Pensieve. A cargo ship off the coast of Normandy. A small room full of dead muggles, all bearing the markings that Newt is painfully familiar with. There's only the one incident though, two months ago in March. “With Grindelwald's followers on the loose, it’s only a matter of time before they hunt down the Obscurial for him. You’ll help the Aurors find it first.”

“I will not,” Newt cuts in almost before the Auror can finish his sentence. “I will _not_  help you murder Credence.”

“So you would rather Grindelwald turn him against us?”

“I don’t pick sides. But I know that I cannot help you harm that boy.” He could say more. He wants to tell them that the Ministry has brought this upon themselves with their backwards laws and fear of the unknown, but despite what most people say, Newt does know when to shut up. And telling off the Ministry for their practices is as good as declaring himself one of Grindelwald’s fanatics. Newt pushes himself away from the table, away from the haunting images of a young man and dead bodies and a city in ruins. “I do hope you will still consider removing the ban on travel. The creatures I study are from all corners of the world, and—”

“We will not consider removing your international travel ban at this time, Scamander. Set one foot out of England, and it won’t matter that Theseus is your brother. There _will_  be consequences.”

"...Right. If that's all." Newt hesitates for a moment longer, muscles tense like a Nundu preparing to pounce, and then he shoves himself to his feet and bolts from the room in one swift movement.

“Newt—!”

He keeps walking. A flash of pink catches his eye down the hall, a tiny webbed foot. Newt quickens his pace. He fixed the latch on his suitcase, but the newest additions to his home are quite wily. 

The voice is closer. “ _Newt_.”

He digs in his pocket for a coin, flicks it down a less-crowded pathway. A dark blur scrambles after it.

“Newt, bloody hell, come _here_ ,” Theseus cries, tackling him from behind. Newt would’ve fought back in order to escape, but the Niffler baby is safely within eyesight, trying and failing to pull a screw loose from the grate over the lift.

“Theseus, please—”

His brother squeezes hard and Newt resigns himself to waiting. He doesn’t hate hugs, but honestly. This is a bit much. And Newt is still thinking of a young man alone in Europe, of the scheming words of Dumbledore he so fervently wishes he had not heard. Theseus mutters into his ear. "They’re watching you, Newt. Be safe.”

Newt doesn’t quite roll his eyes, but it’s a close thing. Of course he’ll be under surveillance. They just told him where to find Credence.

“I have to go,” Newt hedges, and Theseus finally loosens his hold. “Er. Say hello to Leta for me.”

“Tell her yourself,” Theseus urges, his hands still on Newt’s arms, piercing him with a look. “Come over for dinner. You can take one night off, can’t you?”

“I—I really don’t—” Newt sets his eyes on the Niffler, artfully extracting himself from his brother’s hands and scooping up the little menace before Theseus can get a good look at it.

“What was that?” His eyes narrow.

“Nothing, Theseus.” He isn’t convinced. The Niffler squirms in the inside pocket of Next’s coat, tickling his side. The lift opens, and several people file out.

“Newt, did you just—?”

“Er—dinner, you said? Is—is tonight okay?” Newt blurts out. Theseus blinks in surprise.

“What—really?”

“Absolutely. Positively. See you… later.” And then Newt makes a dive for the closing lift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Professor Ross is Isobel Ross, an accomplished witch and future mother to Minerva McGonagall. For some reason McGonagall is in the movie, but she's not supposed to be born for another decade, so I compromised.
> 
> Is this good? Do u hate how I write Newt? I kinda do. Who is this man. He's so different from usual protagonists, pls help.
> 
> EDIT: Some of this chapter has been altered, mainly to adjust the dialogue between Newt and the Ministry; the Ministry only know that Credence is in Europe, not France - it's Dumbledore that figures out the rest in chapter 5. They also officially ask Newt to join the Aurors, not just 'find Credence', I forgot about that.


	4. Nagini

She meets Credence on a rainy day in April. He watches her show with curiosity, as do most, but by the end of the performance he looks sad. It’s been a while since anyone has offered her any sympathy, but she can tell that young man, whoever he is, understands. After the show concludes, she spots him on Rue Claudel and cannot help but stare.

He is shivering like a starved puppy. If he weren’t so gaunt, if he hadn’t had such a haunted look in his eye, Nagini would’ve thought him to be quite a handsome young man. Instead, she sees herself: a tormented, wounded creature.

With that in mind, Nagini knows to approach with caution. She has a few hours before she must return to her tent—she is no prisoner in Skender’s menagerie, but she does have a curfew. Skender isn’t the most pleasant manager, but he accepts any and all that are talented or exotic. She sees the boy sitting on the steps outside a seedy inn, huddled into himself, his jacket tugged over his head to wait out the rain.

Nagini pulls out her wand and, after a few moments of struggling, creates a simple umbrella. Her reflexes slow down in the cold, but more often, Nagini finds that her magic is harder and harder to consciously reach. But she still holds her wand firmly as she comes to a stop in front of the young man. He looks up, wonder and wariness flashing in dark eyes.

 _“You should get out of the cold,”_ she says tentatively in French, and the young man gapes at her.

“Um,” He stammers, blinking away the rain. “I’m sorry, I—I don’t speak French—”

“I speak English too,” Nagini assures him softly, already noting the difference in their accents. She’s performed in America before. She thinks he might be from New York. “I said you should get out of the cold. You’ll get sick.”

“I, um,” he looks away, at his pale hands. “I don’t have a place to stay right now.”

But there is an inn right behind him, so what he is really saying is that he has no money to pay for a room. Nagini looks towards the sky, tastes the air on her tongue. The rain ought to stop by morning. And something about this young man compels her.

“My name is Nagini,” she introduces herself, slowly bending down to sit on the steps with him.

She would not do this normally. She would not leave herself exposed in public to be jeered or catcalled in the streets. But the rain begins to fall in heavy sheets—almost like a flood, almost like monsoon season in her homeland—and there is no one to bother them.

Her umbrella covers him now, and he does not move towards her but he does look grateful. “I’m Credence.” His eyes flit over her face quickly before he looks away again.

“I have a tent, Credence,” she says simply. “It isn’t much, but it is dry and warm. Come with me?”

He meets her eye again, and once more, Nagini can see that he understands. She cannot tell what he is, but Credence is something more than a wizard, just as she is something more than a witch. “Okay,” he agrees in a whisper.

Nagini takes his hand. It should feel clammy and cold from the rain, but he is infinitely warmer than her. “I saw your show,” he mumbles as they make their way to the tents. “Is it true? What they say about you?”

She ignores the hollers and questions from the other performers, pushing the flap back from her tent to allow them both in. It’s charmed to only allow her entry, and she keeps a hold of Credence so the tent will recognize him. “It is,” she tells him finally, setting her wand down and pulling a clean towel from her wardrobe. “One day, I will never turn back.”

Credence accepts the towel wordlessly, scrubbing at his shaggy hair and damp face. She pokes at the hearth, a tiny thing she had to transfigure together with scrap metal, and lights a fire.

Nagini folds her legs on the plush carpets, inviting Credence to do the same. He has no grace, moves like a newborn foal. For a long while, he simply stares at the flickering light as his clothes dry. Nagini picks at her hair, wipes the kohl from her eyes, and waits. Slowly, so slowly, his stiff posture melts away.

“I’m like you, then,” he says quietly, the towel twisting in his hands. “I can’t turn into a snake, but—I’m like you.”

This is what she sensed as well. “Is that why you are here?” Nagini ventures, and she cannot hide the sliver of hope in her heart, the slim chance of finding a kindred spirit.

Credence shakes his head. “No, I’m… I’m looking for someone.”

Nagini eyes him carefully, measuring up what she sees and senses and smells of the young man. And she decides he is in need, and that he is like her, and that she ought to do something.

“I will help you,” she states—and this time the wonder in his gaze is real and whole. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I, for one, did not get enough Nagini in the film. Anyone else agree?


	5. Newt II

He’s expanded his suitcase a great deal since New York, much to the horror and chagrin of Theseus. But Newt couldn’t help it. Once the baby Nifflers arrived, just after he’d spent a month in Scotland quarreling with a large Kelpie, Newt _needed_ more space. The Kelpie had to be relocated, the Nifflers needed more burrows, and a healing Runespoor whom he meant to return to Burkina Faso had to be housed here indefinitely if he wasn’t allowed to leave the British Islands.

So it was really the Ministry’s fault for all this. Newt adjusts the temperature in the Kelpie’s loch while juggling three Nifflers trying to steal his cufflinks. “I ought to hire an assistant,” he mutters to the Kelpie, grinning at the great water demon as it trills in thanks and dives beneath the surf again. Newt takes a moment to look out over the loch, admiring the glimmer of sun on the water and the cool breeze. He took days to model it right, get every aspect as close to the real loch as he could. It's a shame the Kelpie couldn't stay in its first home, but it deserved a clear, fresh valley to match it. 

An insistent tugging on his wrist pulls his attention back to the babies. “Alright, alright, let’s get you back home, yes?” he tells the Nifflers, hurrying over to a warm burrow gleaming with golden light. “Is it not shiny enough for you lot? I only have so many Glow Worms to spare, you know…”

The babies dive for their burrow, snuffling in glee, and Newt sighs. “That’s everyone.” All his creatures should be content for at least the rest of the day.

Then there’s a knock on his case, and a curiously familiar voice floats down.

“Newt, honey, are you home?”

Newt stares at his shack in shock. “Oh.” But that can’t be. “ _Queenie?_ ”

“Ah, you are down there. Would ya mind comin’ up, Newt? It’s been a long trip, I was hopin’ we could have dinner together!”

“Um, yes, I’m—” Newt hastily makes his way to the ladder, craning his head up in time get a glimpse of golden curls. “Queenie? Qu—Hang on, I’m coming up—” He calls to her, clambering up the ladder, heart racing. His cuff snags on a splinter of wood, and he’s half-certain he just lost a button, but then Newt bursts out of the suitcase in a graceless heap and finds himself staring at a pair of unpolished wing-tips. “Queenie?”

He can hear Queenie giggle. But when he looks up, it’s— “Newt! Buddy, pal, good ta see ya!”—and he is hauled up by none other than Jacob Kowalski.

“ _Jacob?_ ” He says dazedly, as the shorter man pulls him into a bone-crushing hug. “But—Tina?”

He isn’t sure what he’s asking, but as Newt’s eyes flit over his living room he sees that he’d assumed wrong. There’s no sign of the other Goldstein sister, but Queenie smiling joyfully and Jacob, still hugging him. Again, Newt doesn’t really _mind_ hugs, but is now the time for it?

Time. Oh, he promised dinner. What time is it?

“It’s nearly seven, you already have plans?” Queenie sighs, clearly distraught by this turn of event. “Me and Teenie ain’t talkin’ right now, but she loves getting your letters. Still waitin’ on that book, though.”

“I see,” Newt says weakly, and Jacob finally releases him, patting his arms with affection.

“Aw, Newt,” he exclaims, reaching out to—what? Adjust his tie?—Newt ducks away, carefully lifting Jacob’s hand off. “It’s so good to see you! I remember everything, by the way. How’s the suitcase? How’s Dougal? And—I guess Frank’s gone, what about that, uh, three-headed little snake?”

“Runespoor,” Newt tells him offhandedly, deciding not to tell Jacob that the beast has grown about fifteen feet longer in the past months. “They’re doing well, a little tired of their enclosure. I’ve been, uh, trying to get them to Africa, but I can’t find someone to transport them…” He squints at Jacob as he speaks, and the man stares back benignly. There’s a bit of sweat on his brow, too. “How… I'm sorry, but how are you here?”

Queenie giggles again, but shifts from foot to foot. “Oh, we’re moving here.”

 _Moving_ here? To London? With _Jacob?_ But—

“Who you havin’ dinner with? You look good, Newt.” Queenie continues cheerfully.

Dinner. _Merlin’s beard._

“Oh, you’re runnin’ late. Again?” Queenie says sympathetically. “Your brother can’t be that mad, right?”

Newt frowns. “Please don’t read my mind. I can spare a minute. Um. Jacob?” He prompts the Muggle. “How are you here?”

Jacob lights up like a Marmite. “Queenie and I are getting married!”

Newt stares at him. Then at Queenie, who’s fidgeting even more and biting her lower lip. “Queenie…” Newt sinks into a chair at his kitchen table, inviting both the New Yorkers to join him. “Queenie, you can’t—”

“I ain’t forcing him,” She says sharply, brow furrowed. Jacob sits between them, giving Queenie a dopey smile. “He does love me, this is real.”

Newt presses his lips together. “I know, Queenie, but—”

“So why do you think this is so wrong, huh?” Queenie demands, hackles raised like a cat. “I ain’t no animal, Newt, we just wanted to stop by!”

Newt shakes his head. Jacob did care a great deal for Queenie, that was obvious enough back in New York. But marriage? Moving to England? When did that become prospects? The laws are clear, Jacob has a life and a bakery in New York, and Tina is still an Auror, as far as Newt knows. So how in the world did any of this happen?

He surveys Queenie quietly, and her mouth is set in a firm frown, but she doesn’t offer any answers. “Let’s… Let’s talk about this later,” Newt sighs. “Once I’m back from my brother’s place. And—Jacob.”

“Yeah?” The man in question asks eagerly, but it’s Queenie that Newt looks at.

“I want to talk to Jacob too,” he says meaningfully. “Please? It’s—wonderful to see you both, truly. I have so much to tell you. But we should all… speak freely, don’t you think?”

Newt gets up, casting a quick Scourgify over himself as he makes his way to the door. He hasn’t connected this flat to the Floo Network, he isn’t here often enough for it, but Newt Apparates so often in his work that it doesn’t bother him anymore.

He glances back at Queenie and Jacob one last time, watching the witch in particular. She seems a little upset, and he knows something must be wrong—Tina didn’t mention her at all in her last letter, and that was almost a month ago—but then Queenie sighs once more, jutting out her bottom lip. Newt isn't any good with people. He's certain he's just upset Queenie more.

She raises her wand to Jacob, and Newt only sees the beginning wand movements of a pink-colored spell before he shuts the door and Apparates across town.

* * *

Theseus, being a paranoid Auror, does not allow people to Apparate directly into his home. Newt thinks it’s a bit inefficient, but who is he to judge his brother for his quirks? Instead, Newt lands on cobblestone about a block away, and straightens out his vest and hair quickly. He’s already half an hour late, but that’s not so bad. Leta will understand.

And really, he just needs a moment to get his head on straight. Queenie... he's afraid he doesn't actually know Queenie that well. And while Queenie and Jacob seem so good for each other, and the laws keeping them apart  _are_ unfair... well, hopefully Jacob can tell it better than Newt. 

 _It’s rather foggy out_. Newt blinks, looking around. The street seems emptier than it ought to be. He continues towards Theseus’s home, but slowly reaches for his wand.

Has it gotten even foggier? Darker? Not good. He doesn’t feel any colder, so he’ll rule out Dementors… Newt comes to a screeching halt when the lamp’s light above him zips out of existence.

“Oh, come on,” Newt says softly. “We’ve _just_ gone over this.”

Another light goes out. He can clearly see which direction the light was pulled towards before it vanished, and knows that if he gets any closer he’ll be able the make out the tall figure of an older wizard, Deluminator in hand.

Newt doesn’t move, but raises his eyebrows pointedly. “I’m late _again_ , you know.”

“Sorry to keep you,” Dumbledore replies amusedly, strolling towards him with hands in the pockets of a light grey trench coat. It’s really not his style, Newt thinks, but he supposes Dumbledore would rather keep a low profile.

They didn’t ask about Dumbledore during Newt’s appeal, but the Ministry did ask during his initial sentencing. And Newt did speak to his old professor just hours before hopping on a ship to New York to release a Thunderbird. And again, just minutes before the Auror’s Office asked him to hunt down an Obscurial…

“They didn’t lift my ban,” Newt tells him unceremoniously. “I can’t help you.”

“It’s not me that needs your help, Newt,” Dumbledore counters without missing a beat, stopping in front of him. “You know that.”

Newt’s jaw clenches. “Grindelwald is in prison. He can’t hurt him anymore. I think it’s best if we leave Credence alone.”

“No prison will keep Grindelwald for long. And more importantly, there could be a way to save Credence,” Dumbledore says quietly. There is no glimmer of knowledge or mischief in his eyes anymore, but solemn meaning. “A way to extract the Obscurus without killing him.”

“You’ve said as much, but I’m not convinced,” Newt frowns. He's _tried_   _it_ before. He watched a little girl disintegrate before his eyes. “If you’re still so certain, why don’t you go out to find him?”

But the wizard shakes his head sadly. “The Ministry is watching me too closely. As is Grindelwald. I’ll only bring more unwanted attention to Credence if I make a move now.”

“But…” Newt watches the professor carefully. “That’s not all. There’s more, and…” he trails off, not quite looking at Dumbledore. His professor has never been the most straightforward of wizards. He doesn’t tell the whole story, but works in terms of plans and moves. It’s incredibly frustrating, but at the same time, Newt is not the sort of wizard to expect all the answers to come at once.

But it’s awful rude to throw Newt into these politics again. He’s already encountered Grindelwald once because of Dumbledore’s clever messages, and… Newt frowns at the professor. “You can’t move against Grindelwald… right now.”

“Right now,” Dumbledore repeats plainly. He does not seem amused, but satisfied with what’s been said. He lifts his eyes to pierce Newt with another solemn look. “I want to help you with this, Newt. I’ve heard that Credence is traveling with Circus Arcanus—” Newt can’t repress his noise of disgust at that, and Dumbledore smiles faintly. “And he is looking for his birth family.”

Newt’s brow furrows in confusion. “His birth family? I thought he was born in that church?”

“That part… is unclear. MACUSA’s records suggest that there were many magical individuals immigrating to New York at the time. He could have magic in his bloodline.” Dumbledore’s expression grows more serious. “And that could be the key to helping Credence. If he has any siblings, anyone close in age that shares his blood, I think the Obscurus could be removed. His life is bound to that chaotic magic, but if he could be supported by a similar source…”

“His sibling’s magic could save him,” Newt finishes the thought warily. “Or… it could be stretched too thin, and kill them both.” Or the _Obscurus_ could consume them all. 

Dumbledore nods slowly. “Magic is a wondrous and complicated thing. It can be chaotic and nonsensical, but at other times, it can be followed to a logical conclusion.”

“If only we were all logical beings,” Newt comments softly, rolling the wooden handle of his wand as he thinks. The professor chuckles, looking away to scan the dark, foggy street. “You know, I—I’ve been hearing a lot about a Zouwu lately,” Newt says hesitantly. “They’re a very violent species, not meant to be domesticated or travel far from their territory. It poses a threat to any urban area, and… I ought to help it.”

Dumbledore smiles. “Do you know why I admire you, Newt? You do not seek power.” He steps back, preparing to Disapparate. “You simply ask, is a thing right?” The street abruptly floods with light, startling Newt. “Circus Arcanus leaves Paris tomorrow. If you leave now, you might get there before anyone else.”

Newt’s jaw drops. “Dumbledore, I can’t leave _right now_ —”

“Yes, it might be hard to get accommodations so quickly,” Dumbledore muses, pulling out a small card. “There’s a safe house in Paris you can use.”

He blinks at the golden symbol in alarm. “I don’t need a _safe house_ …”

“Not even for a cup of tea?” He presses the card into the breast pocket of Newt’s jacket anyway, and Newt doesn’t protest.

The professor vanished with a muffled crackle-pop just as a door swings open down the street.

“Newt?! Is that you?” Theseus hollers at him, clambering down the steps. “Newt, _bloody hell_ —”

Newt runs a hand through his hair. “Merlin’s beard,” he mutters, stepping forward to meet Theseus.

“New—”

“I forgot the butterbeers,” he says out of nowhere, thinking fast. Theseus stares, flabbergasted. Leta and Theseus like butterbeer, he does know that much, but they probably have a case or two of their own and he wasn’t asked to bring anything. “I’m terribly sorry, we’ll have to reschedule, I’ve got a nest of Billywigs that need—shaving—” Newt steps away slowly, as if that would make Theseus settle down.

“Even I know Billywigs don’t have nests!” Theseus cries, narrowing his eyes. “What in the world is your problem? Why do you always do this?”

“Um, do what?” Newt peers at him with wide, hopefully-innocent eyes. His brother grimaces. “I have no idea what you mean. I must go.”

“No!” And Theseus grabs his arm, manhandling him for the second time today. This is why Newt avoids coming to London. This, and Leta. “Who were you just talking to?”

“Um, no one—”

“If you’re in league with Dumbledore you need to tell me.”

“In _league?_ For Merlin’s sake, Theseus, I told you I don’t do sides—”

“Eventually you’ll have to choose,” Theseus says heatedly. “Dumbledore refuses to cooperate with the Ministry, so if he’s told you something—”

“Nothing,” Newt snaps, yanking his arm away. “He’s told me _nothing_. And I can do nothing, as you well know. If that’s all you invited me for, then you have your answer. So—so I’ll be going home now.”

Theseus is silent. Newt lifts his head, and finds his brother unreadable. Upset, frustrated, but beyond that, Newt has no idea. His posture is both rigid and slumped, slightly leaning back, hands loose and empty at his sides. Theseus takes a single, definitive step away, his jaw clenched.

“Remember what I told you, Newt,” he says evenly.

He sighs. “Yes, I’m being watched—”

“Be _safe,_ brother.” Theseus shakes his head. “I promised Mum I would look after you—”

“Well I don’t need looking after, now, do I?” Newt mutters irritably. Theseus just gives him a doubtfully look, and Newt scoffs. _You’ll never understand… You’ve never understood my work, you’re always so sure you know what’s right—_ Newt cuts himself off, clenching his fists briefly. _I still have a Muggle and a natural Legilimens in my house…_ “I don’t want to fight right now.”

Theseus’s shoulders slump. “I don’t want to fight either—”

“I should go.” Newt spins on his heel. “Next time, brother.”

“ _Wait,_ I didn’t say—”

Newt Disapparates before he can finish his sentence. Theseus stares at thin air, scandalized by the abrupt dismissal, and then throws up his hands in frustration. “Newt! Oh, _bugger him!”_ He scowls. “Who does he think he is, _Albus bloody Dumbledore?!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a long chapter. Newt talks a lot. Poor man can't catch a break. If you're unhappy with the Queenie section, well—this is from Newt's perspective. He doesn't get it either.
> 
> EDIT NOTE: This isn't going to impact the fic much, I'm just curious... What are people thinking about Aurelius? Do y'all want Credence to be a Dumbledore, or do you think he's being tricked into thinking he's a Dumbledore? Personally, I don't see why he shouldn't just be Corvus LeStrange. Isn't that dramatic enough? Credence really can't catch a break, man.


End file.
